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Tuesday, July 28, 2015

The great tragedy of Moshe’s life was the fact that he did not complete his mission; he
would not bring the people to the Promised Land. In fact, we might say that
this is actually two tragedies: On a personal level, it is almost inconceivable
that Moshe, our greatest leader and teacher, our staunchest defender and most
dedicated shepherd, would not see the Land of Israel up close, not be forgiven
and allowed to reap the rewards of his years of unflinching dedication. On the
other hand, Moshe’s
fate symbolizes a national tragedy: The entire generation that had experienced
the wonders of the Exodus, the splitting of the sea, the Revelation at Mount
Sinai and so much more, would also perish in the desert. The land will be inherited
and enjoyed by their children.

Moshe begs to see the land. God understands precisely what
it is that Moshe prays for, and although He commands Moshe to desist from
further entreaties, God does, in fact, fulfill Moshe’s prayer in a very literal sense.
Moshe is allowed to climb to a mountaintop vantage point and “see the land,” - but only from afar.

As Moshe continues his speech to the young generation who
will soon go where he is not permitted to tread, it becomes painfully obvious to
them that Moshe will not be joining them for the final leg of the journey. He
takes this last opportunity to warn them about the consequences of idolatry,
and pleads with them to keep the commandments in order to insure that the
inheritance they are about to receive not be forfeited.

We may wonder how Moshe’s final words were received by this young, eager
generation. Did they find it incongruous that Moshe, the greatest man they had
ever known, the man who now stands before them and exhorts them about right and
wrong, sin and its punishment, will himself be banned from entering the Land?
Were they perhaps intimidated by the knowledge that even Moshe, who was the
greatest prophet who ever lived, was unable to live up to God’s standards? Were they disheartened
by the thought that if Moshe had fallen short, it seemed impossible that any
mortal could succeed?

Apparently, Moshe was sensitive to these unspoken doubts
and ruminations. As he begins his final series of lectures, he describes his
personal predicament in very particular language, using an unusual turn of
phrase that may give us a glimpse of his frame of mind and allow us to share
his perspective. While other nations may worship the sun and moon and stars, he
explains, the Jewish People is different. “But you, God Himself took, and He brought you out of the
iron crucible that was Egypt, so that you would be His heritage nation, as you
are today.”
(Devarim 4:20) While the image of the
fiery crucible has captured the imagination of many commentaries and remains an
enduring metaphor throughout Jewish history, Moshe may have had a very
particular idea in mind when he first coined the phrase.

Rashi’s
comments on this verse are terse; he explains that the crucible reference means
that the Jews are like gold, but does not elaborate. Two 19th
century scholars explained this passage at length, coming to widely divergent
conclusions: Rabbi Yaakov Zvi Meklenberg (1785-1865) refers to the process of
smelting in which metals are purified of dross, and explains that the period of
enslavement in Egypt had the same purpose: The Jews were subjected to a painful
process that rid them of those who were unworthy, in order to allow them to
meet their destiny unencumbered by those who would hold them back. This human
dross would have fomented even more unrest and rebellion, and would have been
unwilling and unable to receive the Torah or to fulfill the covenant they would
undertake as a nation.

Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch (1808-1888) had a very different
approach. Rather than intimating that there were impurities in the Jewish
nation that had to be “burned
off”
in the fiery furnace of Egyptian slavery, Rabbi Hirsch saw the crucible as an
experience that gave strength and polish to the morals of the newly-emerging
nation. The fires destroyed everything that had been before, allowed the Jews
to distill their essential qualities and hone their identity. It is this view
of the crucible that may allow us to understand Moshe’s words: His reference to the crucible
is his attempt to point out one of the defining characteristics of Jewish
nationhood. We are a people with a great capacity to suffer because we have a
profound ability to see the long-term repercussions of our actions. Our enslavement
in Egypt had not come as a surprise; not only was it foretold to Avraham, it
was willingly accepted by him and his descendants as part of a long-term
covenant. Avraham’s
children would inherit the Land of Israel, they would become a covenantal
community and enjoy a unique relationship with God - - but only after 400 years
of exile, hardship and slavery. Yaakov accepted this birthright with all its
conditions; he and his children, the very core of the Jewish People, were
willing to suffer in the “short
term”
in order to achieve the long-term “payoff.” Only a people with complete faith in the future, only
those who are willing to postpone gratification in favor of a much greater
spiritual destiny, are capable of accepting a covenant of this kind.

Long before Nietzsche’s Twighlight of the
Idols, Moshe reminded us that the crucible of Egypt and the experience of
slavery did not break us, did not eradicate us as a family or as a covenantal
community, did not corrupt our morals; it not only made us stronger, it made us
who we are. As he stands at the borders of the Promised Land but is denied
entrance, Moshe himself is a living example that gratification of personal
desires is far less important to the Jewish ethos than is the larger national destiny.
Moshe is able to accept a world in which he is denied his heart’s desire, he is able to withstand his
personal pain and frustration, because he has complete faith in the future of
the Jewish People and the Word of God.

Moshe’s
message to the nation moves seamlessly from an account of his own personal pain
to an inspiring account of the strength of his beloved people, even in the face
of setbacks that lasted many generations. They have come through the crucible
as a nation and they are gold, they are strong, they have been endowed with
greatness. The suffering and humiliation, even the death of loved ones that
they experienced in the crucible of slavery, has made them stronger, more
united, more determined, as well as more aware of the suffering of others. They
have refined the ability they inherited from their forefathers to take the long
view, to see past the setbacks, even when these have been tragic and extreme.
And now, they must see past the death of their greatest prophet and leader.
Jewish history, Moshe reminds them, is measured in millennia, not in minutes,
and he assures them that they have what it takes to begin the next chapter - just as we, even today, so many generations
and so many setbacks later, have what it takes to march toward the fulfillment
of our glorious destiny.

For
a more in-depth analysis see: http://arikahn.blogspot.co.il/2015/07/essays-and-audio-vetchanan.html

I
hope that this note finds you well. Thank G-d everything is well here, things
returned to normal .....

Prior
to your request for the letter of Rav Elchanan Wasserman, (which we discussed) I began to search for
it myself. My gut reaction was similar
to yours, “How can a man leave America to knowingly be killed in Europe?” I had
heard some of the legends surrounding Rav Elchanan's demise over the years, and
I had never taken the time to try to distinguish fact from fiction. As a result
of our discussion I decided to research the issue, therefore I thank you for
being the impetus for this learning and clarification.

The
legends spoke of a man leaving the comforts of America in order to be with his
students in Europe, much in the way of a captain going
down with his ship[1]. When confronted by the
enemy he never stopped teaching Torah, and like Rabbi Akiva of old, he died
after giving a class about martyrdom. Eyewitnesses described him as looking
like an “angel of G-d”. Reportedly some of the Nazis were afraid of the Rabbi
who “glowed”, but in the end he was taken out and shot.

I
can not evaluate where the facts end, and embellishment begins. However, I have
succeeded in reconstructing some the pertinent facts.

As
for the letter, I had assumed the letter was in His collected writings called in
Hebrew “Kovetz Mamarim”. Indeed , I found one letter, written to the “Young
Israel” movement dated 1939 [2]. The letter, however does not explain anything
on a personal level, rather he responds to their willingness to help[3]. He responds almost
exclusively on a theological level, with an analogy of a medical patient who
complains of symptoms; the doctor should treat the symptoms, but more
importantly should find the cause. So, too, the Jews in Europe are suffering
greatly, but what is the spiritual cause? And what is the spiritual prescription?
He proceeds to analyze the spiritual issues which he thinks should be brought
to the attention of the masses. Interesting, but not what I was looking for.

In
the course of searching for the letter, I was, as I said,
able to reconstruct some important facts:

1.Most
importantly, Rav Elchanan left America before the war began, and no one knew at
the time what was in store for European Jewry. I was told by a friend, who was a
student of Rav Elchanan`s son Rav Simcha, that he once discussed this with Rav
Simcha who said “my father had no idea
of what would be; had he known, he never would have returned[4] to Europe.

2.The
people that discussed with him, the possibility of his staying in the U.S.
reported great ambivalence[5]. He was torn, obviously
aware that returning meant some type of danger, but he felt he was needed in
Europe.

Here are some of the quotes attributed to
Rav Elchanan: When told that his other 2 sons may be able to escape he replied
“What about my other 400 sons (the number of students in his yeshiva)? [6]

When asked pointedly how in terms of Jewish law he
was permitted to return he said “I am a soldier who must return to the front”[7]

3.Once
back in Europe and the nefarious plans of the Nazis became clear he instructed
people that anything that can be done to avoid danger must be done.[8]

4.Rav
Elchanan himself tried on numerous occasions to escape, mainly to Israel[9], once the real horrors of
the Holocaust became clear.[10]

The letter however was not mentioned in the biography or any other
secondary source. To make a long story short, I finally found a photocopy of
the letter, the main section reads:

I received your letter but I could do nothing about it, so I did not
respond. I am unable to bring the students to the Yeshiva of Dr. Revel or Beis
Medrish Litorah in Chicago, for they are both places of spiritual danger, for
they are run in a spirit of “free thinking” [prevalent in these places]. What would
one gain to escape physical danger in order to then confront spiritual danger?
But I sent your letter to Rabbi Shlomo Heiman the head of the Yeshiva Mesifta
Torah VaDaas in Brooklyn. My advice is that you contact him and have him write
a letter to------ the address is------------------

Elchanan Bunim Wasserman

Some
important background

1. The
consideration of physical danger and spiritual danger, can be found in the
writings of many sages, most notably the famed Chafetz Chaim, Rav
Elchanan`s mentor , had said such things
about America, especially before and during World War one.

2. Even
during the early part of the War Rav Elchanan was concerned about people with
young impressionable children who were contemplating going to America.[12]

3. Having
been to America and personally seen the relative spiritual wasteland that it
was, Rav Elchanan was further (initially) convinced that the old policy of the
Chafetz Chaim should remain in force.[13]

4. I
sense some ambivalence in the letter; was he against coming to America, or was the
problem Y.U. (“Dr. Revels Yeshiva”)? Was he perhaps simply trying to get
an invitation from a more acceptable yeshiva?

In
conclusion, I think the facts stand on their own, but of course you and all
students of history will draw their own conclusions. My study brought me in
touch with a great Jew who lived and died for his people, and was dedicated to
his students in a manner which is unfathomable to the modern mind.

We
are bidden in Pirki Avot not to judge our friend until we find ourselves in his
place. Perhaps by judging people we tempt Fate, as it were, to put us in that
place. Let us hope and pray that no Jew - no person - is ever put in that type
of situation again.

If
I can be of assistance in any way please do not hesitate to contact me.

May
the coming year be a year of health and prosperity to all of G-d`s children.
May you and your family enjoy health and happiness, and may you be inscribed in
the book of the righteous.

Ari

[1] One can find this phrase in Rav Elchanan`s,
justification for returning to eastern Europe from London in the spring of 1939 Or Elchanan (A biography written about the man and his
teachings)page 213, although the source also cites a more mystical
consideration.

[9] A
Facsimile of the letter is in Or Elchanan on page 273, notice the
handwriting matches the letter which I found.

[10] Or Elchanan page 271, it is recounted that
once he was waiting online for a visa to Israel, one of his students was in
front of the line and tried to entice Rav Elchanan to trade places on line, Rav
Elchanan refused. See page 276 for other attempts at escape.

Sunday, July 19, 2015

This week’s Torah
reading is the first in a new book, but for the most part it is a book that
tells an old story, a book whose very existence is born of tragedy. Moshe is
close to death; he will not cross over the Jordan River to the Land of Israel,
and he opens his final series of speeches with a retrospective. How did we get
here? Where did we go wrong? Can we avoid such mistakes in the future?

These are the words
that Moshe spoke to all Israel on the east bank of the Jordan, ... An eleven
day journey from Horev to Kadesh Barnea by way of the Se’ir highlands. (Dvarim
1:1,2)

The Jews have arrived
at the cusp of the Holy Land, at the banks of a river that the disciples will cross
without their master. After forty years of wandering, Moshe reveals that the
actual distance between the Land of Israel and Horev (also known as Sinai), the
place the detour began, is a mere eleven-day journey. So many years wasted, so
many lives lost, and it all could have been avoided.

How, indeed, had it
come to this? At Horev, Moshe was first called upon to lead the Jewish People
out of slavery. There, he saw a bush that burned but was not consumed, a symbol
of eternity, of God’s existence beyond the confines of space and time. This
personal revelation was later shared with the entire Jewish People at that very
same spot, just as God had promised Moshe at the start (Shmot 3:12): The
personal, micro-revelation was transformed into a macro-revelation, The Revelation, that would forge a nation and
change the world.

At that same spot,
Moshe climbed to the summit and received a physical manifestation of the Revelation,
the Tablets of Stone – and, at that very same spot, things went awry. The
people panicked; it seemed to them that too much time had passed, and Moshe had
not survived his encounter with God. Rather than putting their faith in Moshe’s
unique capabilities or in God’s express commitment, they allowed fear to
overtake them; they sought out an alternative to Moshe – and the golden calf
was formed. How quickly they regressed! They had heard God Himself speak to
them only 40 days earlier, but they managed to forget both the experience of
that Revelation and its content. The roar of the frenzied crowd, the beating
drums and rhythmic chants of the idolatrous orgy, drowned out the sights and
sounds of the Revelation at Sinai and the Ten Commandments.

Moshe’s descent from the
mountain, with the Tablets in his arms, should have been cause for celebration;
that day should have been known for all time as “Simchat Torah,” a day of rejoicing with the
Torah. Instead, Moshe’s return to the camp went unnoticed by the people below,
who were too busy worshipping the golden calf to pay any attention to him or to
the gift he had brought down to them. And then, at that very same spot, Moshe,
who had no part in the inconceivable sin, prayed and pleaded for forgiveness on
behalf of the nation. At that very spot, the detour began, and it is the
narrative of that detour that comprises the next two books of the Torah - a
long, arduous, 39- year trek that should have taken only 11 days.

When we stood at Sinai,
we had been heartbreakingly close to our destination, but we lost track of time.
We concerned ourselves with Moshe’s tardiness, and paid no attention to the
fact that we had, in fact, lost our grasp on time itself, and turned an eleven-day
journey into decades of wandering.

Rashi offers a
fascinating insight into this eleven-day distance: When we finally made the
journey in earnest, it only took three days. (Rashi on Devarim 1:2)

In fact, this peculiar,
kaleidoscopic time-line is more relevant to our lives than it might seem at
first glance. Time is a strange and slippery concept: Often, there are life-lessons
that normally take years to learn, which can be acquired in a flash, in a
lightning-bolt of clarity, in what is known as an “ah-hah! moment.” On the long
and winding road, a short and direct route is suddenly illuminated. Other times, we see the light yet repeatedly
ignore the message; repeating the same mistakes over and over, we force ourselves
to take unnecessary detours and to expend our emotional, intellectual and
physical energy going around in circles.

Our normal perception
of time is linear and constant; we are, by and large, “captives on a carousel
of time,” unable to break through, to transcend. Yet there are some people (and
some situations) who manage to break these boundaries. Unfortunately, it often takes
a cataclysm to grab our attention. We are only shaken out of our reverie by
personal or national crises – or worse. This is the lesson of the first few
words of the Book of Devarim: It took the Jewish People thirty-nine years to achieve
what we should have accomplished in eleven days, but when we were finally ready
– spiritually alert, attentive, and willing to take step up to meet our destiny
- the eleven-day journey was completed in three days.

All these years after
the destruction of the Temple, it is clear to us that we have taken a
two-thousand-year detour. But it should be equally clear to us that we are – and
always have been – heartbreakingly close to our destination. The final distance
can be achieved in days, minutes, perhaps even seconds – when we are finally ready
to take those last few holy steps.

5772-When Tisha Bav falls on Shabbat the fast is
pushed to Sunday - Are there any laws of Tisha Bav on Shabbat? Are laws of
private mourning intact? Are sexual relations allowed? Is the fast on Sunday a
"bona fide" Tisha B'Av?

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About Me

Born in Brooklyn NY, moved to Israel in 1984.
I teach and write about Torah topics. Author of "Explorations" on the weekly Parsha and "Emanations" on holidays - both published by Targum/Feldheim
http://rabbiarikahn.com
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